


Nobody's Keeping Tabs on Us

by Raven_WritingDesk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "Tabs" by Lights, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Besides sharing a room, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, But don't worry they're happy tears, Caring Harry Potter, Cause consent isn't sexy it's required, Cause they're my favorite, Cavity level sweetness, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Consent, Cruciatus, Crying After Sex, Don't risk it wrap your biscuit, Drarry, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Fluff, Forgiveness, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry raises plants, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hurt/Comfort, It's my favorite trope, It's not all sad though, Kissing, Like make an appointment you're gonna need a crown, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Nongraphic Mention of Past Torture, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protected Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Retaking Seventh Year, Sexual Tension, Songfic, The Sexy Stuff:, Top Harry Potter, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Virgin Harry Potter, Withdrawn Draco Malfoy, because of course they are, both of them have ptsd, caring sex, continuous consent, potions partners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_WritingDesk/pseuds/Raven_WritingDesk
Summary: Baby keep on doing it, ain't never gotta stopJust keep on doing it, nobody's keeping tabs on usBaby don't hold back, let's do it up like thatKeep on doing it, nobody's keeping tabs on usTabs on usHarry returns to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year. All he wants is to keep his head down and not crumble under the expectations of the wizarding world. When his Advanced Potions partner turns out to be Draco Malfoy, he is almost unsurprised at the universe's proclivity toward shitting on him. However, he attempts to bridge the gap, and the result is something he certainly didn't see coming.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 100





	Nobody's Keeping Tabs on Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back with my third song fic. ^_^"" This one has a more somber tone than my other fics, I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> This is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Please be respectful and do not repost. 
> 
> Here we go!

Harry stepped out onto the train platform and released the breath he’d been holding. He hadn't been sure about coming back to Hogwarts to repeat his seventh year. If He was being completely honest, he hadn’t wanted to come back at all.

Hermione exited the Hogwarts Express behind him. Seeing his expression, she placed an empathetic hand on his shoulder. 

“It’ll be alright, Harry,” she assured in a soft voice. 

He forced a tight smile.

The Thestral hitched up to the carriage shuffled its hooved feet and snorted a warm cloud of steam. Harry patted its skeletal neck. _Luna and I aren't the only ones who can see them now_ , he thought grimly as he boarded the carriage. The returning students who'd been at the battle, now having witnessed death, could also see the strange yet beautiful creatures. The two of them settled into seats and the carriage rattled forward.

Harry's shoulders crept toward his ears as the carriage neared the castle gates. The last time he'd seen these gates was the worst day of his life. He pressed his hands between his knees, knowing that covering his ears wouldn't stop the sounds coming from inside his head. Explosions, shattering glass, and worst of all, screams of terror ricocheted within his head. He glanced to the side and saw Hermione’s leg bouncing lightly next to his own. She sat with her back ramrod straight, taking in controlled breaths through her nose. Her anxiety made his heart squeeze; she’d always been the strongest of their trio, their backbone. 

Ron was not with them. He and Harry had always dreamed of being partners in the Aurors, but the final battle and losing Fred had drastically altered his priorities. _I think I’ve done enough fighting for one lifetime, mate_ he’d told Harry, _Besides, Mum needs us close now more than ever._ Fred’s loss had all but destroyed the Weasleys, with Molly and George taking it the hardest. They often sat in Fred’s room, looking at the magic photos of them; the family trip to Egypt and birthdays seemed to be a favorite. The sight of their grief tightens like a vice around Harry’s insides, stealing his breath and making him lightheaded. He was constantly torn between needing his family and desperately wanting to escape their palpable sadness. 

Surprisingly, he'd taken up gardening as a way to cope over the summer. He'd renovated the attic at Grimmauld into a greenhouse of sorts, complete with a large skylight. He placed muggle humidifiers at intervals around the room to add to the greenhouse atmosphere. Harry felt the most at peace in that room. Plants don't talk, don't fall all over themselves in gratitude at his mere presence. They didn't exchange concerned looks when they thought he wasn't looking, or comment on his new habit of not going outside like Ron and Hermione. They simply existed, drawing life from the soil, sunlight, and water Harry provided. He'd spelled the walls of the room to be completely soundproof, which had the effect of making the world disappear. In the silence of this room, he could pretend that he was an ordinary person who had no public expectations of heroism and could turn his newfound love of plants into a career. Harry daydreamed about becoming a supplier to potioneers down in Diagon Alley. He grew both magical and muggle plants, mostly medicinal: flowers, herbs, tubers. 

Harry clenched his teeth and forced himself to exit the carriage. His feet dragged against the ground as they carried him through the front doors and into the Great Hall. He saw two images, one of the destruction, one of the rebuilt Hall, one overlaying the other. He blinked rapidly, not completely sure which was real. He forced himself forward to the seventh year table, spine and shoulders straight as though he was not shaking like a leaf. The representation of each house was small at best. Many students had chosen to go directly into the workforce, rather than returning to this castle of ghosts. Harry had almost been one of them, but unfortunately being the Savior of the wizarding world meant he couldn't quietly fade into a nondescript job. True to form, Hermione was determined to finish her N.E.W.T.s. She had her sights set on Mungo’s, which required Outstanding scores. Harry admired her intense work ethic and motivation. He’d found it difficult to care about much of anything since the battle. 

Harry took slow, controlled breaths as students filled the seats and they waited for Professor McGonagall's opening words. His gaze on the stream of faces was unfocused until a brilliantly blond head appeared in the doorway. Harry's eyes sharpened on Malfoy, who honestly looked more afraid to be back than Harry was. Malfoy lowered his head and hurried to a seat closest to the door. Harry hadn't seen Malfoy since his and Narcissa's trials. Lucious had received life in Azkaban, just as he deserved. Malfoy and his mother received lighter sentences. Harry was shocked Malfoy had returned at all.

Harry didn't realize he was blatantly staring until Malfoy's eyes met his. Malfoy's gaze shot back to the tabletop, face turning pink. Harry felt an odd warmth under his collar at that. He fidgeted, fingers gripping his thighs. He'd always had conflicting feelings toward Malfoy. Their fights held a strange undercurrent, Harry's eyes fixed on Malfoys pink lips, pulled back in a sneer. During the few physical fights they'd had, Harry thought they'd pressed closer than strictly necessary. His heart would pound for different reasons as they aged. Harry saw Malfoy's gaze settle on him once more just as he faced the staff table. Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium to make her beginning of term speech. Peering around Hermione’s puffy hair, Harry's heart swelled with equal parts fondness and grief: fondness for professor McGonagall, and grief at why she stood where she did.

The two waited for most of the students to leave the Hall before making his way to the new seventh year dorms. The common room was a tasteful combination of the four houses' colors. McGonagall and the other professors had decided that inter-house unity was a better choice considering all that had happened, which Harry thought was arse-backwards. They'd all spent six years segregated from each other, only to be thrown together and expected to get along. Harry and Hermione ascended the main staircase to the rooms; there were so few students that they'd each been given their own. He found the door with a plaque that displayed his name; Hermione was to the left. 

“Oh good, we’re neighbors,” Hermione’s eyes glimmered with happiness for the first time since they boarded the Express.

Harry squeezed her hand, “Yeah.”

She let out a tired breath, “I think I’m just going to go right to bed.”

Harry nodded; he knew how she felt, “Good night, 'Mione.”

“Night, Harry.”

Harry turned to his door and opened it. Just before entering, his eyes caught the door to his right out of his periphery. Harry experienced a tangled of emotions when he read the name of the person assigned there: Malfoy. Of course. He sighed wearily and, after locking the door, flopped unceremoniously onto his bed. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Harry grudgingly unlocked his door the following morning to attend Advanced Potions. He hadn’t really slept; the nightmares he’d been living with for a couple of years now had intensified now that he was back in the place where they took place. He’d given up sleep in favor of spelling a galaxy, complete with nebulas and constellations, onto his ceiling. He’d also rearranged his room to allow the several plants he’d brought a spot next to the window. Harry didn’t know if they would get the light they needed, but if they didn’t, he supposed, he could give them to Professor Sprout. He’d woken to a note slipped under his door. 

_Harry,_ It was Hermione’s elegant script.

_Heard you up last night and figured you’d want to stay in bed a bit longer, so I went down to breakfast. See you in class._

He smiled sadly. He’d been pretty quiet; if Hermione heard him, she’d been awake too.

Harry heard the door next to his unlatch simultaneously with his. Malfoy took half a step out into the hall, saw Harry, and promptly spun back into his room and closed the door. Harry paused in his doorway; should he say something? Malfoy had technically been on the opposite side during the War, but he hadn’t really done anything wrong, it had been his father and aunt who furthered Voldemort's plans. Sure, he’d been a horrid child, but after seeing what went on in the Malfoy family behind closed doors, Harry suspected Malfoy’s behavior had been self-preservation. He crossed the several feet between their rooms and stood outside the door. Leaning close, Harry could hear the sound of Malfoy’s anxious breathing on the other side. Harry raised his hand to knock, the floorboards creaking as his weight shifted. There was a sharp intake of breath, then silence behind the door. A weight settled into his chest and he rested his hand softly against the wooden door. It was warm to the touch, though the corridor was cool. 

_Wards_. Malfoy had felt it necessary to place wards over the entrance to his room. Harry didn’t blame him, he supposed, but for some reason Harry took it personally, like Malfoy had set the wards up against _him_. No, that wasn’t right; if they’d been designed for Harry, the door wouldn’t have felt pleasantly warm. He would have been on the receiving end of a nasty shock or some other unpleasant deterrent. Harry shifted away from the door, adjusted his satchel, and locked his own door. Maybe he’d talk to Malfoy another time, maybe when Malfoy wasn’t so obviously afraid to even be near him. 

As luck would have it, Harry was the second to last student to arrive in the Potions classroom. His eyes searched for Hermione, who he found seated at a table with Neville. He smiled, disappointed. Leave it to Hermione to partner with Neville. He’d always struggled so terribly in potions, he had almost no hope passing that portion of N.E.W.T.s. He wanted to be with Hermione, but he knew Neville needed the help. So, Harry plunked down into an empty seat, pulling out his supplies. One minute until the start of class, the door eased open, revealing the last student in the class. Malfoy paused with his back to the door, seemingly waiting for people to start slinging hexes his way. When they didn’t, he slowly made his way forward. Malfoy visibly deflated when his eyes landed on the last available seat: the seat next to Harry. Malfoy pulled the chair to the other end of the table, which only gained him an additional six inches of space, and gingerly sat on the edge. Harry’s heart raced; the seats students chose on their first day were the seats in which they remained, making Malfoy his class partner for the rest of term. If he’d put any credence in Divination, Harry would have said it was fate. Since he did not, he chalked it up to his life’s propensity toward entropy. 

Professor Slughorn instructed the students to open their textbooks before he copied the information onto the board. He wasted no time with idle chit chat; his previously talkative and extroverted personality had become subdued. He quietly observed his students as they filed in and out of the ingredients room. Neither Harry nor Malfoy had moved in their seats. Malfoy wrung his hands under the table where he probably thought them out of sight. _Stalling won’t make this any less awkward_ , Harry thought and cleared his throat.

“Uh, hi, Malfoy,” Harry shifted in his seat.

Malfoy lifted his eyes from the table top to stare at the board, “Hello, Potter.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, “How, uh...how was your summer?”

Malfoy slanted him a glance, “It was thrilling; I had an abundance of quality time with Mother due to our mutual house arrests. I also found that the library needs a ladder, as I was not able to use magic to retrieve books on account of the Ministry’s seizure of my wand.”

Though said with classic Malfoy sarcasm, his words lacked the bite and disdain they previously carried. Harry still felt less than intelligent for his seemingly, though clearly not, innocuous question. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, his neck warming.

“You hardly have anything to apologize for, Potter,” Malfoy murmured. He looked toward the ingredients room, “The initial rush seems to have died down, shall we proceed?”

Harry’s heart _thumped_ when Malfoy turned. Harry almost blocked Malfoy’s line of sight to the ingredients room. Almost. Which meant Malfoy was _almost_ looking at him. There were a few seconds of silence, then Malfoy did look at him, brow slightly drawn. The heat under Harry’s collar increased when he realized he’d been staring. Feeling like an utter twat, Harry nearly tripped in his haste to leave the table. _Brilliant form, Harry_ , he grumbled to himself, _let’s continue to make a complete arse of ourselves, shall we? That will surely help Malfoy feel more comfortable around you._

Harry returned to the sight of Malfoy using his wand to draw slow, deliberate circles around the mouth of the cauldron with practiced focus. Harry quietly set the supplies down and began organizing them as Malfoy finished prepping. They worked in tense silence for several minutes before Harry spoke.

“So, the Ministry gave you your wand back?” He’d been sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye at Malfoy’s 10 inch Hawthorn. He had visited Malfoy Manor after the trials to return it. It was a peaceful exchange. Harry had been surprised when Malfoy said the Ministry seized it. 

Malfoy nodded, “Along with stipulations, of course. I cannot cast outside Hogwarts grounds, and there is a trace on my magical signature. There is also a spell they will use to identify everything I have cast. And a dampener on my wand,” his expression bore a resemblance to his childhood sneer, “it effectively limits my power to what I need to pass my N.E.W.T.S. and no more.”

Harry’s chest felt as though everything had dropped several inches, “They limited your magic?”

Malfoy snorted, lips curling back, “Can’t have the little Death Eater running around unchecked, now can we?”

A rumble came from Harry’s chest before he could stop it, “Don’t say that.”

Malfoy’s expression fell back to a practiced neutral, “Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Not anymore it’s not,” Harry was surprised by the conviction in his tone, “In fact, I’m not sure if it was ever true.”

Malfoy’s lips pursed minutely before he retrieved a cutting board and some ingredients from Harry’s side of the table. His movements were slow, even hesitant, as though he feared he would scare Harry off. 

“I’ll take care of the chopping and crushing, you can start on the base,” and with that, Malfoy closed down the conversation, lining up the items in a neat row.

Harry held back a sigh; he’d felt like they’d been making progress just now. He unstoppered the bottle containing the potion base and tipped it into the cauldron. 

The remainder of class went relatively smoothly. Harry was pleasantly surprised that his rearing of plants at home was helping his potion skills; he'd always been a bit shite at potions; it took more concentration than he had to spare what with his mind preoccupied with his fucking destiny. Harry and Malfoy worked in silence except to ask the other to pass a knife, measuring spoon, or ingredient. Several times, they both reached for the same item, and their hands would have touched if not for Malfoy snatching his hand back at the last second. Malfoy’s behavior was beginning to get to Harry; he acted as if Harry would lash out, hurt him in some way. That and his blatant avoidance made Harry’s skin feel prickly. _What_ was Malfoy so scared of?

Once their station was packed and cleaned up, Harry moved to walk behind Malfoy toward the door. He visibly stiffened and held himself completely still. 

Harry shuffled around him. “Scared, Malfoy?” he said teasingly in an attempt at levity. 

Malfoy held him with a steady gaze. He looked directly into Harry’s eyes with an intensity that answered his question. 

_Yes._

Harry’s cheeks colored and he hurried away. _Dickhead,_ he scolded himself, wanting to kick himself in the arse, _of course he is, anyone in his position would be._ Harry hung his head as he walked to his next class, wondering how he could interact with Malfoy without making an absolute muck of it. 

[*]

Harry’s embarrassment thrummed in his chest into the evening. He felt fidgety, unable to focus on the readings he’d been assigned. If Hermione had noticed, she hadn’t said anything. Harry abruptly stood from where he sat at his desk and exited his room. He found himself at Malfoy’s door before he knew what he wanted to say. Well, that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t exactly say _Sorry for being an absolute cock who can’t keep his fat mouth shut_. He turned some words over in his mind and knocked. 

The sound of shuffling came from the other side. The lock clicked and the door swung inward to reveal Malfoy. He’d obviously been relaxing, dressed in a light grey t-shirt and black, loose-fitting pants. The thin material of the shirt outlined the plains of Malfoy’s chest, and clung to his small waist. He had always been taller than Harry, and slender like a birch tree, whereas Harry's short stature could be contributed to malnutrition as a child courtesy of the Dursleys. Malfoys long arms, one holding the door, the other at his side, were thin yet strong from years on a broomstick. Harry swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat. 

He realized that while he’d been looking Malfoy over, the other man had been waiting expectantly. Harry cleared his throat, heart beating a little faster.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry, for earlier,” He paused. Malfoy didn’t respond, so he continued, “I was trying to make conversation; I figured that if we were going to be potions partners I’d try to talk to you and maybe we could call a truce. Instead I screwed it up and I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry.”

Malfoy looked at the floor, white lashes obstructing his eyes, “Like I said Potter, you don’t have anything to apologize for. Least of all to me.”

“Stop saying that,” Harry huffed, “I believed what I said during the trials. I don’t think you’re a bad person. You did what you had to do to survive living in the same house as Voldemort,” He saw Malfoy flinch at the name and felt bad all over again. He sighed.

“I’d like to try to get to know you.”

Malfoy raised his eyes to Harry’s, head tilted in question.

“We spent all those years at each other’s throats. I figured now that things are different we could try again,” Harry took a deep breath, unsure of his next words, “and I think you might be as scared to be here as I am.”

Malfoy was silent. He blinked several times, and Harry squirmed under his gaze. Finally, Malfoy nodded.

“I think I would like that very much,” his voice was just above a whisper.

Harry had to restrain his smile at that; he’d already made Malfoy uncomfortable enough, no reason to grin at him like a wolf at a steak.

He turned to go, but paused when he heard Malfoy murmur, “and yes, I am.”

The door to Malfoy’s room clicked softly shut.

____________________________________________________________________________

A month passed; Harry and Malfoy remained potions partners and things were going well. Slughorn had given them their end of term project: create an original potion. Harry had balked at the vastness of options. Any potion? Malfoy, on the other hand, had an idea. 

Harry had been sitting in a secluded corner of the library next to the restricted section, scribbling away at an essay when a pale figure dropped into the seat across from him. Malfoy began extricating a number of large tomes, rolls of parchment, ink, and what Harry thought looked like a Quick Notes Quill. He prickled internally at the memory of Skeeter’s revolting embellishments on his life for the past four years. He watched Malfoy situate these things and himself, obviously intent on staying a while. Malfoy fidgeted with the quill for a moment, “I’ve been thinking about our semester project,” he stated in a low voice. 

Harry sat forward, attentive.

“I’ve been looking into a certain...phenomenon that occurs in those who-,” He shifted in his seat anxiously, “who have been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse repeatedly or for prolonged periods of time.”

Harry felt his throat tighten, “Which is?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“These, ah, individuals,” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “experience an after effect of low-level pain similar to the curse itself.”

Harry was horrified. The curse itself was pure agony, what he expected Hell would feel like. His mind could not comprehend a person enduring a similar suffering after the curse was ended.

Malfoy took in Harry’s white face and slack jaw, “Yes, it’s as terrible as it sounds. It seems the curse causes permanent damage to the body-specifically pain receptors-so that it feels pain when there is no tangible cause. After the rise of The Dar- _Voldemort_ , the use of the Cruciatus Curse increased, resulting in what Healers are estimating to be over 200 cases. These are, of course, Muggleborns and Half-Bloods.” His lip was curled into a disgusted sneer at this last part. 

“So, then...what’s being done for them?” Harry still wasn’t sure how this pertains to their project.

Malfoy scoffed, “Pain potions, along with additional potions to mitigate the side effects.”

Harry nodded. The few times he’d had a pain potion he hadn’t enjoyed it. Certainly, he was grateful to not be in pain, but the drowsiness and dizziness made it difficult to function. Having to take them every day…

“And...you want to brew a different treatment?” Harry guessed.

A solemn nod.

Harry exhaled, “Alright, sounds like an amazing idea, but I do wonder: why this potion?”

Malfoys expression was difficult to read, "Because I am one of those cases."

Harry’s insides fell through the floor. _Oh God...Malfoy?_

“B-but, h-how could-?”

“As you know, I was given the task of assassinating the Headmaster,” Mafloy’s eyes narrowed, and Harry thought they looked wetter than before. Even after what he just revealed, he seemed more upset about the task Voldemort gave him.

“When I did not succeed, when I couldn’t do it, I returned to the Manor in disgrace. V-Voldemort, he-” A shaky breath, “he punished my weakness via his favorite means: suffering.”

Harry was definitely going to vomit. _Malfoy had been tortured…_

“My parents were devastated. I couldn’t move for days; I had to be carried to my room. My mother stayed with me through it all, even when the pain did not completely fade.” He stopped, face growing red, obviously upset.

Harry was shell shocked. He’d spent the summer borderline drowning in his own feelings of fear, depression, and flashbacks. His nightmares had all but destroyed his sleep. He was pretty sure Malfoy would have gone through something similar, but with this pain...

Harry’s hand moved forward on its own accord before he regained control. He couldn’t just reach out and touch Malfoy, they weren’t even friends, not to mention the pain Malfoy must be in. 

After a few deep breaths, Malfoy spoke again, calmer, “I would like us to begin preliminary formulation of an alternative treatment for their-our-condition, if you are amenable.”

“Yes, yes of course I am,” How could Harry possibly not be?

Malfoy ducked his head in a nod, then sifted through his sack of books. Once he found the one he sought, he opened it and began to read, his Quick Notes Quill scratching away at its parchment. 

Harry stared for several moments more, stunned at their exchange. For Malfoy to disclose this to _Harry_ of all people showed a level of trust he wouldn’t have expected. Despite the conversation, he felt a small spark in his chest at the thought.

[*]

The trend continued as Harry and Malfoy worked on the potion. They spent increasing amounts of time together, which Hermione obviously took note of.

“So,” she began lightly one day in the library.

Harry inwardly groaned; Hermione only used that tone when she was trying to be delicate about something.

“You and Malfoy seem to be getting on.”

Harry shrugged, “We’re partners, it’s easier to work together if we’re civil.”

Hermione narrowed her keen eyes, “You seem more than just civil. I’d say almost friendly.”

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. He knew why she brought this up: Hermione had been tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, and Malfoy had been an absolute terror when they were younger. 

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he sighed, “but he’s changed, Hermione. He hasn’t said one rude word to me all semester. He’s terrified to be here; he’s even warded his door.”

The corners of Hermione’s mouth turned down. She’d always had a bit of difficulty with empathy; her intelligence and analytical mind got in the way. She also had every right to feel as she did.

She softened a bit, “Just be careful.”

“Don’t worry, 'Mione.”

“I always worry.”

[*]

Once Slughorn approved Harry and Malfoy’s proposal, they got to work, and sat for hours in what had become their corner in the library, researching both wizarding and Muggle textbooks that Malfoy had owl-ordered. Muggle doctors knew things about human anatomy that wizarding Healers apparently found arbitrary or unimportant. 

“Pain receptors are located throughout the entire body: in the skin, muscles, bones even,” Malfoy was explaining, “and they are typically activated when something isn’t right with the body, like an injury or infection,” He pointed to an anatomical representation of the human nervous system on the page, “but for us, they’re activated by innocuous things like pressure, or even clothing that is too tight or rough, and because they are overcharged, they over-fire even further when an injury is present.”

Harry shook his head in awe, “Malfoy, have you considered becoming a Healer?”

He smiled sheepishly. That was another new development: Malfoy smiling, and at _Harry_. 

“I have, actually. I don’t know of any apprenticeships that would accept my application, though.”

Harry rubbed his chin, “There has to be. You’re brilliant with this.”

A pink tint appeared on Malfoy’s cheeks, “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Harry’s own cheeks heated in response. He leaned forward further and extended his hand over the table. 

“So, what you’re saying is because the nerves feel pain all the time, when you’re injured it hurts even worse than normal?” He asked softly, a fingertip tracing the branching nerves of the diagram.

Malfoy’s eyes followed the fingertip’s progress, lips slightly parted. When it stopped, he blinked rapidly and refocused on Harry’s face.

“Exactly.”

The butterflies in Harry’s stomach and rib cage rioted. He thought he saw Malfoy’s pupils dilate slightly before he turned them back to the book, flipping to a different page. 

______________________________________________________________________________

The end of October saw Harry and Malfoy calling what they had a tentative friendship. Harry still worried that he might do or say the wrong thing and scare Malfoy off, but it hadn't happened yet. Halloween was always a fun time at the school, what with the feast and special trips to Hogsmead. They perused the shops, giggles and teasing smiles. Once or twice, their hands brushed as they walked, Harry’s chest sparking. His fist clenched and unclenched, barely resisting the urge to just let it happen, to slip his hand over Malfoy’s. But he didn’t; he could jeopardize this new connection he valued so. The more time they spent together, the less Malfoy looked over his shoulder and his eyes didn't frantically scan the room for potential threats. He was relaxed in Harry's presence, often reclining in his chair and running hands through his hair absentmindedly as they conversed. He’d cropped his hair on the sides and allowed it to fall freely to the side. Harry found that more and more he had to force himself to pay attention to the words Malfoy was saying when he did things like that, because Harry wanted to be running _his_ hands through those corn silk locks. 

_Goddamnit,_ He thought, _Malfoy finally relaxes around me and what do I go and do? Fancy him. Well done, Harry._

There were times when Harry could swear Malfoy returned these feelings. His eyes often followed Harry's hands as they rubbed his arms while he leaned on the table. He'd caught Malfoy watching him out of the corner of his eye more than once when he thought Harry was occupied. But then there were times when Malfoy was all business, speaking clinically about the effects of their preliminary potion. Slughorn insisted on inspecting the potion before Malfoy tested it on himself, and always in his office. Malfoy was professional and detached, even with Harry.

He approached Harry and Hermione in the library one day. He seemed both determined and anxious.

“Hey, what’s up?” Harry asked. Hermione didn’t look up.

Malfoy cleared his throat, “I was hoping I could speak to Granger.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up and she looked at him.

“Granger, I want to offer you my most sincere apology for the way I acted in the past. I had no right to say the things I did, especially calling you a M-Mudblood,” his voice softened with shame on the word.

“I also apologize for my aunt’s despicable actions at the Manor...and for my inaction.”

Malfoy’s neck was deeply flushed when he stopped speaking. Hermione regarded him placidly for several moments, long enough for Malfoy to squirm. 

“I’ve always believed that actions mean more than words, Malfoy. Two months’ worth of kindness does not undo years of cruelty.”

Malfoy looked miserably at his feet.

“However,” she continued, “I would consider accepting your apologies if you continue to prove through your actions that you mean it.”

Malfoy visibly sagged with relief, “I can assure you, I will do my best to earn your acceptance.” 

Hermione nodded.

“Well, I will leave you to your studying,” Malfoy retreated, weaving through the study tables.

Harry met Hermione’s eyes, “Thank you.”

Hermione sniffed, “Yes, well, we shall see.” 

[*]

At some point, Harry and Malfoy moved from the library into Harry's room. This is when Malfoy was his most animated. He spoke excitedly about any positive effects of the potion, his Quick Notes Quill struggling to keep up with his rapid thoughts. Harry listened with a smile on his face, truly happy for the first time in months. 

With good days, unfortunately, came not good ones. Some days Harry would hardly recognize Malfoy: his skin was stark white, his eyes dark from obvious lack of sleep. He moved stiffly, wincing as he sat and stood, and rubbed his leg or arm when he thought nobody was looking. Malfoy explained that cold and wet weather made the pain worse. Harry's anger at Malfoys situation bubbled up on these days. Hadn't he been through enough? 

On one of these days, after hearing Malfoy’s discomfited sigh for what seemed like the twentieth time, Harry asked, "Malfoy, is there something I can do to help you?"

Malfoy looked over from where he sat at Harry's desk. Harry leaned against the headboard of his bed and watched as Malfoy wiggled in the chair, thinking. Finally he sighed and said, "My shoulders have been in knots for days and I can't seem to find relief. If you would be willing…" He trailed off, his cheeks flaming. 

Harry's butterflies instigated another riot, "Sure, come sit over here." His voice was deceptively calm. 

Malfoy shuffled over and hesitantly climbed into the bed, situating himself with his back to Harry. Harry swallowed thickly before gingerly placing his hands on Malfoy's shoulders. He could feel Malfoy's body heat through his cotton shirt. He rubbed slow circles with his thumbs, carefully increasing the pressure and watching for any signs of discomfort. The muscles slowly relaxed, Malfoy's posture drooping forward. He hadn't told Harry to stop, so he took the liberty of working the muscles of Malfoy's back as well. 

Malfoy's head dropped back, small sighs escaping his parted lips every so often. Harry was finding it more and more difficult to reign in his mind, which took off at a sprint imagining how else Harry could draw those sounds from Malfoy. 

"Potter," Malfoy said softly into the quiet.

Harry immediately removed his hands, heart racing.

"No, no, you're fine. I was just thinking, why don't you start calling me by my name instead of Malfoy?"

Harry resumed his ministrations, "I suppose because that's what I've always called you. Why do you ask?"

"I figured if we're close enough for you to give me a massage, we can call each other by our first names," Malfoy chuckled.

Harry smiled, "I suppose that's true...Draco."

Draco inhaled slightly, though Harry didn't know if it was because of the pressure or his use of Draco’s name.

Draco sat up and rolled his shoulders before stretching his arms over his head. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the strip of skin that was exposed. He wanted to touch so badly his fingers itched.

Draco turned around, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, not quite facing Harry. 

"Thank you, I feel better now." Draco smiled contentedly.

"You're welcome," Harry was nowhere near as relaxed, the milky skin of Draco’s back still in his mind.

Draco fiddled with a loose thread on Harry's bedspread. 

"We _are_ friends, right Harry?"

A wave of heat went through Harry as his name left Draco's lips. "I hope so." 

"And friends can ask each other anything, right?" 

"Sure," The heat continued to build.

The unlucky thread was now being pulled apart.

"Well, we've been getting along very well, and I think working together well on the potion. I've had friends who I get along with and work well with but-" He took a slow breath, "none of them would have done what you did just now. I guess I'm wondering why you did." 

Harry paused, considering his options. He'd really just wanted to help Draco feel more comfortable. But if he was being completely honest, he'd been wanting to touch Draco for weeks and had just never had an excuse until then. 

"You were just so uncomfortable," he said carefully, "I don't like seeing you in pain like that. I care about you." He hadn't meant to say that last part; he mentally kicked himself.

Draco, however, smiled softly, "Thank you, I care about you too, Harry." He stared into Harry's eyes, his storm grey irises thinning around his dilating pupils. 

Harry feared his chest would burst open and his flock of butterflies would escape. It was obvious what Draco wanted, all Harry had to do was lean forward and give it to him.

So he did, slowly, in case Draco changed his mind. Draco sat still except for a small tilt of his head. Harry met Draco's lips softly, unsurprised that they were as pillowy as they looked, and he had looked a lot. 

When Draco didn't pull away, Harry gingerly placed his hand on Draco’s heated cheek.  
He inhaled sharply, his own hand grasping Harry's pant leg in a tight fist. Draco moved closer, letting go of the fabric and instead clutching at Harry's upper arm. He hummed into the kiss.

"I've been staring at your arms for weeks. You're so strong, it's hot as hell," he murmured against Harry's lips.

Harry laughed breathlessly, "You're the one who's so sexy I can't get my fucking mind off the way you look in these shirts." He ran a hand down Draco’s sleeve, and he gasped, hand fisting in Harry's own sleeve. 

"Kiss me again?" Draco phrased it as a question, as if Harry would object.

This kiss was not gentle like the first. Draco's lips parted under Harry's immediately, and he whined lightly when Harry's tongue entered his mouth. He pulled Harry forward by his collar, Harry's hands finding Draco's waist. A sound rumbled in Harry's chest as he ran his hands up and down Draco's rib cage, and felt him shiver. 

Draco crawled forward and boldly sat himself across Harry's lap. Harry was all too happy to have him closer, their chests pressed together, exchanging body heat. Harry sucked and nipped down Draco's chin and neck, sucking a small mark into his clavicle. Draco cried out sharply and Harry jerked back.

"Oh fuck, Draco I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

"A bit," Draco breathed, "but in a good way," He stroked a hot hand down Harry's chest, and Harry responded by reflexively arching into Draco's touch. The movement caused the growing bulge in his jeans to brush Draco’s. Harry groaned, and Draco answered with one of his own. Draco's hips began to rock forward and he made small mewls against Harry's mouth. 

Harry was dizzy from adrenaline and lack of oxygen. He forced himself to think through the fog of arousal. This was moving fast; Draco was obviously as desperate for Harry's touch as he was for Draco’s. The problem was that this was already further than he'd gone with anyone and he wasn't sure he wanted to push that limit just then.

He pulled back from Draco's delicious mouth, "Draco," his voice was low and rough.

Draco responded by whining Harry's name back through panting breaths.

Harry took hold of Dracos hips and pushed slightly, which brought Draco out of his own haze. He stilled and looked at Harry, eyes nearly black, face flushed bright red.

"I think we should...um," Harry took deep breaths, "I think we should cool off, yeah?"

Draco blinked dazedly, sitting back so their pelvises were no longer touching. He breathed deeply, eyes clearing.

“Yeah, yeah of course, I’m good with that,” he maneuvered himself off Harry’s lap to sit next to him, and curled into his side. Harry’s arm fell around his shoulders.

Harry jiggled his foot anxiously, “I-I’m sorry, things were moving a bit fast and I just…” He scratched the back of his neck. 

Draco craned his neck to catch Harry’s eye, “Harry, you never, _ever_ have to apologize for wanting to stop. I’d be more upset if you didn’t tell me to stop and felt upset.” 

Harry nodded, feeling better after hearing that.

Draco snuggled into him further, one arm across Harry’s middle, “Do you feel okay with everything else we did? And if not, I need to know.”

Harry chuckled self-consciously, “Yeah, I do.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it was, ah...that’s the most I’ve ever done with anyone, actually,” Harry’s speech was stilted with embarrassment.

Draco rubbed his side, “Me too, don’t worry.”

Harry felt relieved. Turns out, when he was consistently fearing for his life and hiding out in the woods with his two platonic best friends, he hadn’t had much time to build his sexual experience. 

In the end, they didn’t pick back up with schoolwork. They sat, engaging in quiet conversation, Harry’s fingers in Draco’s hair and Draco toying with the hem of Harry’s shirt. They stole a few more kisses, making sure to keep the heat dialed down. Draco went back to his room eventually, giving Harry one more look before softly closing the door.

______________________________________________________________________________

After that night in his room, Harry and Draco's relationship developed quickly. Now that the final wall had been brought down, they grew closer and closer. Draco no longer seemed afraid to be seen walking to potions with Harry. Harry's heart felt like a helium balloon. 

Hermione was slowly softening toward Draco, and had surprised Harry by inviting him to sit with her and Harry at meals. They still hadn’t quite figured out how to blend all three of them into a conversation; Harry would talk to each of them while the other listened. 

One night, Harry was getting ready for bed when there was a knock at his door. It was louder than Draco’s usual knock, which meant it was Hermione. 

“Hey,” he said, his tone questioning.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted him, “I know it’s late, but can I come in?”

He stepped aside and she entered, settling herself on the edge of Harry’s bed. He joined her, waiting for her to speak; it was obvious she had something on her mind. 

“I don’t really know how to begin this conversation, so I’m just going to ask.”

 _Here it comes._ He knew what she was going to ask, Hermione was the most observant person he knew. 

“Are you involved with Malfoy?” she asked in one breath.

_And there it is._

“Yeah, I am,” he says it more easily than he’d anticipated.

Hermione nodded vigorously, “Right, yes, alright.”

“Are you freaking out on me?” Harry winced.

She stopped and smoothed her hair back from her face, and took a steadying breath, “No, no, I’m not going to freak out. I knew what the answer would be, I just needed it confirmed.”

Harry knew any level of freak out would be attributed to it being Draco, not a boy, that Harry was dating. 

“Have you said anything to Ron?”

She chewed her lip, “I wanted to. He’s my partner, and your best friend, and I wanted someone to bounce things off of. It just didn’t feel right, though,” She slanted a look at him and smiled, “What you’re doing with Malfoy is your business to share.”

“His head is going to explode no matter who he hears it from.”

“We’ll bring ponchos, then,” her eyes held a mischievous glint. 

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, “You really are the best friend I could ask for.”

Hermione laughed, “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Draco's physical ailments are a representation of fibromyalgia, a chronic pain condition that I live with. It's classified as a neurological disease, though there isn't much research. No one knows why we get it. It effects an estimated 3-5 million people in the United States (where I live), which is roughly 1 in 50 people. I wrote this during a flare as I tend to write stories that match my mood.
> 
> Please be respectful of me and others with chronic illness. Disrespectful comments will be removed.
> 
> Playlist:
> 
> Tabs ~Lights (obviously)  
> Down Forever ~Lights  
> Follow You Down (acoustic) ~Lights  
> Muscle Memory (acoustic) ~Lights  
> Revelation ~Troye Sivan  
> Animal ~Troye Sivan  
> Hold On ~flor  
> Body ~Wet  
> Lovesick ~BANKS  
> Back in My Arms ~Carlie Hanson  
> In My Way ~MUNA  
> End of Desire ~MUNA  
> Love They Say ~Tegan and Sara   
> Only Love (acoustic) ~PVRIS


End file.
